The Most Important Claim
by nerd6to6the6max
Summary: Daryl is with the Claimers and runs into an old childhood friend, who needs a little help but ends up returning the favor. Disclaimer: I just wanted to experiment with an OC, Daryl's backstory, and the ever intriguing universe that is TWD. Another Disclaimer: this is my first fic. Like ever. Please enjoy! *on hiatus while i work on another fic :) *
1. Then and Now

_A pre-apocalypse memory;_

Daryl stepped outside his trailer. The humid air cloaked him in a suffocating layer of sweat. A far-off shout echoed from within the woods surrounding the trailer park; probably just Merle and his father hunting. At least that got them out of his way for a while so he could clean up the empty bottles from last night. Funny, how the number of bottles his father drank directly coincided with the number of bruises forming on Daryl's back. _Yeah, funny,_ Daryl thought sarcastically as he carried the full trash bag outside to the park's communal bin. His father didn't seem to care that Daryl was in his twenties, or trying desperately to move on from this place, he still got mad when Daryl mentioned leaving. The damp, mossy ground absorbed the noise from his heavy work boots and the only sound was the musical clink of bottles rubbing together. A solitary drop of rain fell from the turbulent grey sky and fell on his nose. He hoped they weren't in for a storm, since their trailers were even more the worse for wear, and probably wouldn't come through a rough patch of weather. He approached the bin, silent thanks to his hunter instincts, and saw a small figure struggling to lift a huge bag into the skip.

"Hey Daisy," Daryl drawled. The younger girl jumped out of her skin and turned around with a look of horror on her face. It took a moment for her to register Daryl's presence, then she saw his smirk.

"Dipshit! I thought you were him," Daisy hissed, swinging the bag of trash half-heartedly at Daryl. He would've taken it as their usual banter, were it not for the angry light in her eyes.

"Oh, sorry. He bad again last night?" Daryl asked more seriously as he tossed the bottles into the skip. The loud rattle made Daisy cringe and she nodded while shrugging, as if it were no big deal. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, exposing a freshly blooming bruise spreading across her cheekbone. "Yeah, mine too," Daryl sighed. They both found some solidarity in sharing their bruises and hatred of father figures. Daryl grabbed the bag of trash from her, swinging it into the skip easily. She nodded in thanks. The rain began falling in earnest, filling the skip with tiny droplets and making the two companions wipe at their eyes. It was a good excuse, really, as any droplet of water making its way down one's face could be called "rain".

"But I'm goin' back to school next week. So, it's fine," Daisy smiled a little. She leant against the skip, sighing as she cast her gaze back to her trailer. It was directly across from the Dixon's, and out the front sat her father, a piggish man in nature as well as appearance. Daryl snorted.

"Ay, at least you get to leave, not like some of us who're stuck in this shithole."

"Yeah, that's true," Daisy grinned, blowing a raspberry at the disgruntled redneck. Daryl cracked a smile which vanished as he heard his name being bellowed from behind his trailer. Merle back from hunting, no doubt.

"I better go. Catch ya later," Daryl sighed. As he walked towards his brother, he found it telling that Daisy would rather stand in the claggy rain, by a skip full of rotten trash, than spend even one second in her father's presence.

 _A post-apocalypse memory;_

Daryl stood in the middle of the field and surveyed the walkers scrabbling at the fence. The prison was full of people and the walkers seemed to sense they were weaker since the newcomers arrived. They couldn't leave this place, they just couldn't. Even though prison had never been one of his favourite places, this didn't feel like back then. This was a fortress, a safe zone, a symbol of hope for the future. Daryl snorted at his own poetic thoughts and set back to the cells, deciding to gather a group of fence-clearers. Under the outdoor kitchen area, Carol and Beth were laughing about something or other as they skinned the rabbits from yesterday's hunt. A gentle smile grew on Daryl's face. Maybe it was the absence of a mother growing up, but Daryl always found wonder in the absolute acceptance and irrespective happiness that women found in their circumstances. They were cheerful and forgiving, yet stood unmoved by the rush of life around them, like a stubborn rock in the middle of a river. The current could change to go around them, not the other way around. Beth looked up and saw him approaching, and she lifted a hand joyfully. Daryl couldn't help but smile, couldn't help his feet walking nearer despite a million other things he need to do. He just wanted to sit with Carol and Beth, and hear them laugh, and pretend that everything was okay.

"Nice rabbits you got for us," Carol said, waggling a skinned bunny in front of him. Beth giggled at his disgusted reaction. "Any problems at the fence?"

Daryl shrugged. "Yeah, it's a little crowded, nothin' too bad." He felt Beth watching him, felt her smile warm his back as he poked at the pile of rabbit furs. She was so much like Daisy, yet so different. They were both small little things, and both felt the world on their shoulders, yet were resolutely happy in spite of it. But Beth, Beth was light and sunshine and fire. Daisy had been colder, darker, shaped by her life into a form that didn't suit her at all. _Had been._ Past tense. She was probably dead by now.

"Is everythin' okay?" Beth asked, a pause in her knife as she observed his sullen expression. Daryl half-smiled and nodded. Beth wasn't Daisy. Daisy wasn't here. And all those years they had wasted together as trailer trash kids meant nothing now.

 _The apocalypse, now;_

"Mine," Daryl monotonously said as he stumbled through the forest. The other Claimers scowled with annoyance as they saw Daryl fall on a berry bush. They were all hungry, but even stronger than their hunger was their adherence to the rules of their little gang. If Daryl said the berries were his, then they were his, as much as it pained them to see food go to waste on a newer member.

"Claimed," Daryl's voice, wearisome as ever, rang out as he snatched a piece of meat from the fire, shoving the squirrel into his mouth before anyone could dispute his claim. That was all he ever said nowadays. Mine. Claimed. Taken. Dibs. No other words left his mouth, ever. Since he lost Beth, really actually physically _lost_ her, he couldn't think of anything to say. Any word that left his mouth was an insult to her memory, a cruel reminder that he was not enough to save her. He stretched out before the fire in his claimed sleeping bag and thought longingly of his lost group. Where were they? Were they alive? He tortured himself by not knowing the answers. And even though the Claimers reeked of foul, evil natures, even though they were a kind of harsh savageness he hadn't seen in a long time, he stayed. Daryl stayed because being alone was infinitely more horrifying than whatever the Claimers could do. So he followed, and he didn't talk much except to claim what he needed to live, and he sat in silence mourning the loss of the prison. The loss of his group. His family. But Daryl stayed and he survived.

 _The most important claim;_

It was a foggy morning, the sun had barely risen, and Daryl was freezing. His teeth chattered together as the group gathered their belonging, small disputes arising over equally small items. Daryl ignored it all and shoved his sleeping bag, minimal weapons, and even less food into a backpack. He leant against a tree as close to the dying embers of the fire as he could get. The other group members were chuckling and joking amongst themselves, their crude sneers a permanent expression. Daryl knew the apocalypse hadn't changed them, he knew they had always been (and always would be) grade-A assholes. He didn't concern himself with their chatter and mindless discussions. They mostly talked about what expert killers they were, or what sexual atrocities they had committed against various survivors they had met. Their bragging made Daryl sick to his stomach and he was thankful that in their weeks of travelling together, they hadn't come across a single survivor. He didn't know if he could stand by and watch them carry on their usual activities, but he also knew he wouldn't survive if he protested. Still, he knew the day would come when he would have to choose between his humanity and them. Between staying someone he could still look in the eye in a mirror, or becoming like their evil, rotting selves. He just didn't know that day would come so soon.

A scream ripped through the air, cutting through the cold and piercing Daryl's ear. Almost directly after came a victorious laugh, dry and sickening, like a rabid dog snarling its last breath. Daryl dropped the wire he was using to pick the lock of a house and ran towards the noise, instinctually feeling a rush of adrenaline. The scream sounded again, and Daryl rounded the corner to see Joe, their fearless leader, dragging an occupant out of a ramshackle house. They had been spending the morning looting this small cluster of houses and had found nothing of interest. Until now. The commotion had attracted most of the group, and they crowded around Joe crowing and hollering with glee. Daryl's mouth went dry as he got close and saw Joe holding a crouching girl by the hair. His heart stopped as the girl twisted and he caught a brief glimpse of her face.

Dark, curling hair.

Youthful, turbulent, brown eyes.

Scared.

"D..Daisy?" Daryl tried to call, but his breath caught as he struggled to process what he saw there in front of him. Daisy. His Daisy, who he had spent so many lazy summer afternoons with. Daisy, who had patched him up just as many times as he had physically stopped her pa beating on her. The very same Daisy who he would find hiding, crying, by the creek only to watch her laugh as he stuttered and fussed about what to do. Daisy. Alive.

"Fucking _let go_ ," Daisy yelled, kicking her legs as Joe hauled her to her feet. Daryl nearly threw up.

"Looky here boys, it seems to be our lucky day," Joe sneered, shaking the miniscule form that was in his hand. Resounding shouts and cheers were flung from the crowd, and hungry eyes stripped clothes from flesh, and flesh from bones. For a moment, silence reined over the little crowd. Silence filled the air, broken only by Daisy's panicked panting. The Claimers, stunned by their apparent victory, simply stood and observed their prize, too filled with anticipation to do anything but gawp. But Daryl, adrenaline coursing through him, knew exactly what to do. Knew exactly what to say. He knew because it was all he had been saying for the past few weeks, all his mind recognized as feasible action. Daryl Dixon stepped forwards, raised a hand, and said one simple word.

"Claimed."


	2. Reunion

Anger. Anger filled the air as Daryl's word settled around them. The Claimers hissed and scowled, looking at Joe, muttering that surely this was not allowed. Daryl clenched his fist, not sure what he would do if his claim was dismissed. But Joe, seething, threw Daisy to the ground.

"Well boys, it looks like your new brother is being a little selfish," Joe ground out, staring at Daryl with malice, "But a claim is a claim. Y'all should've been quicker." Indignant shouts rose up around Daryl, but all he saw was Joe nod and stride away, and then there was just Daisy. Daryl, fist still clenched, shoved through the crowd and stood only metres, only a few steps, from a small piece of happiness. And as he took a deep breath, as he strolled even closer, he couldn't help but remember all the times he had found her like this, all those years ago.

"Daisy?" Daryl knelt beside her as she pushed herself off the cracked concrete path. They both winced at the roughness of his voice, and Daryl tried to remember how to speak gently, how to speak the way he used to, with softer edges to his words. Daisy blinked through her fringe, eyes wide as his familiar face came into focus.

"You," Daisy breathed, pushing away in shock. "Is it really you?" She clamped a hand over her mouth and held in a sob as Daryl nodded, eyes shining.

"You're alive," Daryl said, and saying it out loud seemed to make it more real. "You're fucking alive." Cold air stung his eyes as he rubbed them, and Daisy's smile was damp from her own tears. They sat and stared at each other, still barely understanding who was in front of them. There was no tearful embrace or joyful laughter, no grabbing hands, but just sitting there looking at each other was somehow more profound. The few Claimers who still stood around began to shuffle their feet and leer at the ragged girl's form, their scavenging forgotten for the moment.

"Are…are you with them?" Daisy questioned, her eyes filled with apprehension as she took in the group. She even drew back a little from Daryl, and her hand drifted towards a knife strapped by her combat boots.

"No, no. Well, sort of. But it's not like that," Daryl said quietly. His hands shook with wanting to grab her, pull her away from them, but even his closeness was a transgression. He glared over his shoulder at the hovering swarm of filth. "Show's over, git on with it," he snapped loudly.

"Seems like Daryl ain't capable of sharin' toys," Joe sneered. "G'on boys, get back to searching." The irked Claimers slowly wandered away, all of them glaring and muttering foul things under their breaths. Daryl turned back to a still uneasy Daisy and eyed her arms, which were thick with scratches and scars and, more recently, bruises. The apocalypse hadn't been too easy on her, but he knew for sure that some of the damage had happened before.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," Daryl offered, gesturing to the closest house. He stood and stretched out a hand, slow and quiet, towards Daisy. It was all coming back, the familiar calm movements and soft words that made her okay. He remembered teaching himself this foreign language, so different from what his father and brother used. He remembered the first time he had bust into Daisy's trailer, sick of the incessant noise, and sent her father out to cool off, and how he had found her under the table. She had been all cut up and bruised, kind of like now, and cowering from any movement, only calming at the steady tone of his voice. They had both been too young to know what to do. And not a single other person in the whole damn crowded trailer park had thought to interrupt the distressed racket that came from the same trailer every single night.

"I can't believe it's you," Daisy muttered as they walked towards the house. Its door was faded and chipped with broken hinges, but it was enough to block out the outside world. "I thought I'd never see you again."

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Daryl responded. "It's been a while, ay?"

"Six years, plus however long it's been since it all went to shit," Daisy wrinkled her nose as they walked inside. It was a mess, furniture tipped up in each room and dust floating liberally through the air. "I haven't seen you since I left the park." Daryl let her lead the way to a cramped room she had obviously been living in, empty cans and various things scattered around. But only one bedroll.

"You all by yourself?" Daryl asked as she took a seat on the moth-eaten and mouldy couch. He squinted his eyes and tried to see through the dim light, but no one else appeared. Daisy shrugged. That shrug, her most frequent mannerism, was so familiar that Daryl nearly started crying again. That same shrug used to answer all his questions, soothe all his worries. The dingy trailer park didn't seem so bad when Daisy would shrug and remind him at least they had a home, and their bruises didn't seem to matter after she shrugged as if to say, it's only skin, it'll heal.

"I am," Daisy sighed. She absentmindedly ran a finger over a particularly deep set of scratches on her arm.

"Lemme see that," Daryl drawled as he sat next to her and pulled a make-shift first aid kit from his bag. "Needs cleanin'." Daisy let him edge closer and hold her arm still as he poured betadine onto the wounds. She hissed a little at the bite, clenching her fist. "Sorry, sorry. All done," Daryl hushed. His hand lingered on her arm for a moment, tracing the scars and bruises, and he sighed reproachfully.

"Thanks," Daisy said with a smile, but she snatched her arm away and pushed the sleeve of her button-up further down. A small breeze blew through the smashed window. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure," Daryl shrugged, shoving the kit back into his bag. He pulled out a parcel of dried fruits and offered them to her. She took one politely, but was obviously starved as she apologetically took a whole handful.

"When that fucker dragged me out, why did you say that? Claimed?" Daisy mumbled through a mouthful of berries. Daryl was silent for a moment, tracing his heel through the dust.

"This group, if uh, if you want dibs on something, ya gotta...say so," Daryl stuttered. It sounded bad, once he said it out loud like that. Daisy certainly seemed to think so. She stopped eating and looked blankly at him. "Like, uh, to make it yours." Well shit, that just made it worse. Daisy shuffled to the other end of the couch, her knuckles clenched tight. "Daisy." Daryl's voice was sorrowful. "C'mon, it's me."

"Yeah, it's you Daryl, but I haven't seen you in years. I don't know how you've changed," Daisy said hesitantly. Her fingers crept towards the knife on her leg.

"I know, but come on. We grew up together." Daryl could have kicked himself. Each movement he made seemed inherently aggressive now as he raised his empty hands. "Can we leave knives out of this?"

Daisy shrugged, hand still resting on the hilt. "How do I know, huh? How do I know you're not just like them now?" she retorted, gesturing to the distant noise of rummaging Claimers. The gentle breeze wasn't the cause of her shaking now, and she held Daryl in such an accusing stare that he felt at a loss for what to say.

"I ain't like them," Daryl assured her, a desperate note in his voice. "Please, Daisy. It's alright." The silence was suffocating as she slowly slid the knife away and crossed her arms. She raised an eyebrow. "You know me," Daryl promised gently. The quiet, calm act he put on was harder now since he was frantically thinking of better, more credible things to say. Daisy shifted in her seat. She looked him up and down, her gaze finally resting on his eyes, searching for any sign of deception.

"Maybe I do know you, Daryl Dixon," Daisy sighed, a slight smile ghosting her lips. Daryl nodded, returning her brutally honest stare. He stood and offered her a hand. Not demanding or pleading, but an offer of reconciliation. Daisy took it and let him pull her into his chest, let him wrap his tired, grimy arms around her. After years of separation, after all that had happened to Daryl, to hold his oldest friend was like wiping away the turmoil of his life. Daisy leant into his chest, the smell of leather and sweat and blood reminding her that this wasn't the same Daryl she used to play hide and seek with; but it was, it was him, and he clutched her tighter as she sobbed with either joy or pure astonishment. "I'm glad you found me," she whispered, pushing her gritted hands into his back.

She was about to say something else when Joe's shout echoed into the house, signalling it was time to leave. Daisy's face fell into an unreadable expression, perhaps a little sad, a little pensive, as she stepped back from the embrace. She sighed, "Well I guess I'll see you around." Daryl cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Uh, you gotta come with us," Daryl winced. "Joe, he's funny about claims. Ya gotta uphold them an' all that."

"Fuck that," Daisy laughed dryly. "You think I'm gonna go anywhere with them? Have you got any idea how idiotic that is?"

"You'll be alright, I'll look after ya. It'll be like the old days," Daryl coaxed her with a small smile of encouragement.

"Don't even say that. You know what the "old days" did to me," Daisy hissed. "I've been fine on my own so far, dipshit."

"Look, if I don't take you with me, I give up my claim. And they'll come back, Daisy. The things they do would make the old days seem like a fuckin' vacation," Daryl snapped back. Daisy stayed sullenly silent, her head turned away, tears of anger snaking down her face. Daryl sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I promise you it'll be okay."

"I just…don't know if you can keep that promise," Daisy said as she turned away.

"Ay. Look at me." Daryl grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. He tried to keep his piercing gaze soft as he bent his head to look directly at her face. "I promise you."

Daisy shifted her feet but held his gaze, and she saw the inextinguishable spark of honesty behind his gentle eyes. "You better not let me down, Dixon," she sighed as she picked up her bag of belongings, stopping to throw a few items in.

"When have I ever?" Daryl smiled. They made their way out of the house to find Joe and the Claimers waiting in a cluster. Daisy was almost treading on his heels as she tucked herself behind his sturdy frame, a fist fearfully gripping his jacket. Daryl was holding her tightly by the arm, only to convince the group that he wasn't too soft on her. Daryl said nothing when the group swore and spat at them. He was satisfied that Joe's rules would hold and that Daisy was in no danger from the Claimers. He tried to convey that to the shivering shadow hiding behind him by stroking a comforting thumb over the arm he was gripping.

Joe picked at his teeth as he surveyed the pair, apparently convinced Daryl's claim wasn't going to waste by Daisy's shaking and the way he pulled her along behind him. Joe didn't see the hand clutching at Daryl's jacket, drawing courage from his collected poise. "You're lucky you think fast Daryl. I would've had that, ya bastard," Joe grinned jovially. Daryl made a non-committal grunt. Joe's face returned to its usual sneer. "C'mon then lads- and lady, of couse-,we better get back to camp.

"Promise," Daryl repeated his earlier assurance in a whisper to Daisy. She nodded, her face almost pressed into his back. They began walking, and both felt a knot growing in their stomachs. Partly due to the excitement of finding one another, but mostly because of the uncertain future.


	3. Just for Show

The Claimers' temporary camp was an hour walk away. The afternoon sun was barely enough to warm the forest, its deep shadows holding a cold atmosphere around the group of survivors. Joe walked ahead, confident as always, with his men trailed out behind him at intervals. At the back, Daryl strode with crossbow at the ready, Daisy matching his steps so as not to fall behind. She was glad he kept a good distance between her and the rest of them. Every time one of the Claimers turned around, Daryl made sure to grab her arm and push her forwards like a warden marching a prisoner. They walked in silence, the only sound coming from within the forest. Birds, deer, and the rotting, rambling corpses. The first time a walker appeared on the narrow road they followed, Daisy practically trod on Daryl's heels with a horrified squeak. It was obvious, even after surviving for so long, that the dead still deeply disturbed her. Daryl squeezed her hand as they walked on past the ambling corpse, the walker dealt with swiftly by the Claimers. It settled her somewhat, but there was still the feeling that a hundred walkers could be lurking in the woods, just out of sight. Soon, as the afternoon faded slowly, they had nearly reached the short-term camp.

"Daisy," Daryl whispered, pulling her aside into the underbrush, out of sight on the convoy ahead. She raised an eyebrow in question as he looked over his shoulder, checking they weren't watched. He shifted nervously on his feet. "Listen, when we're back at camp, I can't…be good to ya," he whispered gruffly. "They gotta think I'm like them, yeah?"

"What are you saying?" Daisy frowned, trying to tug her hand away from his grip. He held tighter and shushed her.

"Jus', whatever happens, remember my promise. And remember who I am," Daryl said tersely.

"Come on Daryl, we're waitin' for ya. You can play with your new toy when we're back," one of the claimers yelled from up the trail. Daryl gave his apprehensive claim one last look, trying to reassure her with his steady gaze, and pulled her back onto the road. He made sure to drag her a few steps, making her stumble to catch up with his long stride. "Better not break it yet," the claimer laughed, watching with sick delight as Daisy glanced fearfully up at her crossbow-wielding friend. She could sense a slight change in his demeanour and suddenly, she wasn't so sure she wanted to be with him overnight. A pit in her stomach began to form as she realised there was no turning back. Not least because she didn't know the way, but more because the Claimers would never let her leave. And she realised a little too late that Daryl, even if he wasn't exactly like them, was still a Claimer. Was still a stranger, their years of separation erasing the close bond they had shared before, making her question her decision to pretend nothing had changed. They had both changed almost as much as the world had changed. Eyes fixed on his boots, she demurely followed him as they left the road and went down a track deeper into the woods. The camp was modest, but Daisy was glad to fall into a seat next to the smouldering fire.

"What the fuck you think you're doing, girl? Git over here," Daryl barked at her. She jumped and stared at him in confusion. The Claimers exchanged equally confused glances, as if they never thought Daryl would have the backbone to do anything. "I gotta repeat myself or somethin'? C'mere," Daryl drawled in such a menacing tone that Daisy's earlier worries about her safety weren't quieted by the promises he had made. Still, she stood up and went to him, unable to control her flinch as he swung an arm over her shoulders. "Jus' go along with it," Daryl whispered so that only she could hear. He jerked her forwards and strode out of the clearing, pausing to say loudly, "Aw, quit yer fuckin' crying." Daisy's heart raced and she considered pushing him away, but his arm was firmly clamped around her shoulders. She kept reminding herself that he was only acting like this because of the group, that surely, surely, he wouldn't actually march her away into the woods to accost. They walked a few minutes until the hollering and jeering of the other men could only be heard distantly, then Daisy jolted to a halt and threw his arm off.

"What the fuck, dipshit?" Daisy spat, crossing her arms defensively and taking a large step back. Daryl's face fell when he saw the panic in her eyes.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Daryl said, reaching for her hand. She jerked back violently. "Daise, it was only for show," he grunted apologetically.

"I don't care," Daisy said bluntly. She saw too many similarities between this new group and her old life, her life with her father. But to witness Daryl, the only person who knew how to settle her, turn into the same type of guy he usually protected her from was rattling. She tried to slow her panicked breathing.

"Oh fuck, I didn't mean to scare you," Daryl groaned as he rubbed a dirty hand across his brow. He reached for her hands again, this time slowly. She recoiled with a whimper but he caught them. "Shh, Daisy, listen. I'm sorry," Daryl whispered, "It's okay, yeah? Still jus' me." He tilted his head to catch her gaze. "Ay, listen. You're fine." And when Daisy finally met his stare, she saw the old Daryl, her Daryl. The awkward, well-meaning redneck who barely understood her but tried to help anyway.

"You sounded like him," Daisy blurted out with a sniff. She didn't have to mention her father's name; they both knew who she meant. Daryl pulled her into his chest, a hand resting on her head as she clasped his waist so hard he thought his ribs might give way.

"I'm sorry, baby," Daryl whispered. Guilt filled every pore of his being when he realised how long it had probably been since she had been spoken to like that, and what memories it must have resurfaced. Daisy froze for a moment then, much to Daryl's surprise, giggled.

"Did you just call me baby?" she snorted, leaning back to wipe her nose with her tattered sleeve.

"Oh, shut up," Daryl grunted with embarrassment.

"Are you blushing, Dixon?" Daisy laughed. Even though he was indeed, that laugh made his discomfort worthwhile. They smiled softly to each other, apparently reconciled. Daisy wound her fingers through his and turned to appraise the forest. "Nice place. Can we go for a walk?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, it's getting dark. We can go tomorrow." He wiggled the fingers that were clasped tightly in her hand. "We better head back."

"Do you have t'yell at me again?" Daisy asked quietly. Daryl sighed.

"Not if I can help it. But these guys, Daisy…you're a smart girl. You know what this type of scum thinks girls are for," he said. Daisy nodded. "If Joe sees a claim goin' to…waste, 'specially if he thinks I'm soft on ya, he'll get pretty mad."

"I understand," Daisy agreed.

"I know it scares ya, but I ain't ever gonna hurt you," Daryl mumbled.

"You make me sound like a little kid when you say it like that," Daisy rolled her eyes. Daryl shrugged, as if to say she did sound like that, but he didn't think any less of her for it.

"Oh, and one more thing before we go back. Ya need to look a little…roughed up," he said awkwardly. "Y'know, like we've-"

"I know what you mean," Daisy cut him off.

When they walked back into camp, a stunned silence fell as the Claimers took in Daisy's new look. Torn clothes, puffy red eyes from sobbing, and blood dripping from her nose. Actually, she had just held her eyes open until they stung and added some squirrel blood to her nose, but the effect was dramatically convincing. She limped meekly along behind Daryl, who swaggered up to the fire, daring anyone to make a comment.

"Sit," he snapped, and pointed to the ground next to his feet as he slumped in a worn deck chair. Daisy did as she was told, having rehearsed this a moment ago in the woods, and rested her head on his leg. The hand he twisted in her hair may have looked possessive and controlling to the Claimers, but the gentle circles he traced with his fingers were quite the opposite. Joe, who was sat roasting some type of meat, looked on smugly.

"Knew you'd fit in with us, Daryl," he said with a grin. He passed a plate of meat over, pausing to run a harsh eye over Daisy. Daryl grunted in reply and began eating. He wiggled a piece of rabbit in front of Daisy, smirking maliciously as she pretended to recoil from his hand. A new degree of sick, deranged respect grew in the groups' eyes as they watched Daryl tease his claim with the food. Some looked on with jealousy, some with a hunger not just for the food. But Joe's approving expression meant no one dared interfere.

"M'kay, you can eat the rest," Daryl said dismissively as he threw down the plate in front of Daisy. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, an unspoken apology for his cruelty.

"Tomorrow we're gonna start pushing to the east," Joe announced. The conversation around the campfire gradually picked up as the next day's plans were discussed and organised.

Darkness was settling and the breeze had dropped off, leaving the air pleasantly cool and scented from the surrounding pine trees. The fresh meat was delicious and Daisy took her time savouring each bite as she listened indifferently to the discussion. Daryl, although he pretended to ignore her, kept a comforting hand firmly on her shoulder each time she flinched back from a yell or argument arising in the conversation. Considering the circumstances, it was a relatively peaceful and quiet evening.

Until, from a ways back in the woods, they head an ear-piercing scream. And another.

And then a non-descript Claimer, who Daisy thought may have been called Lenny, bust into the campsite with blood pouring from a bite wound on his neck and three walkers on his tail.


	4. Walkers and Walking

Daryl had been as relaxed as he could be, given the situation. Daisy sat by his feet all curled up and nestled into his knee, and he felt extremely guilty given the way he had to treat her. He tried to tell himself it had to be this way, but still, self-loathing filled his gut each time he did something cruel just for show. Daisy, at least, seemed to understand and she didn't seem to hold it against him. But now and then, he saw a look in her eyes and he knew the cowering and fearful looks weren't purely for show. It made him sick. This was the way her father used to treat her, and Daryl had sworn to her years ago he would never act that way. But it was crucial for their survival, he reminded himself over and over again. It didn't help. He had been absent-mindedly stroking Daisy's hair when he heard the first scream, which immediately put him into action stance. He pulled a knife from his belt and jumped to his feet. When the Claimer, Lenny, came running up with a couple walkers following him, Daisy let out a whimper of terror.

"Git behind me girl," Daryl ordered her gruffly. He stepped in front of her, knife raised and ready. The four other claimers set themselves loose on two of the walkers and Lenny fell to the forest floor with blood leaking from a shoulder wound. A bite wound, to be precise.

"Who in the _hell_ forgot to put up the barbed wire?" Joe roared from his safe position by the fire. Sure enough, the wire that usually protected the camp was still coiled up by the pile of rucksacks. It was too late now anyway, as the third walker advanced on Daryl.

"Son of a bitch," he growled as he swung his knife towards it. He missed, instead colliding with its upper arm. His knife sunk into the rotten flesh easily and hit bone, meaning it took a second to pull it out. In that second the slobbering thing had reached around him, clawing at Daisy, who let out a strangled scream. She fell over backwards and thrashed for a moment before stumbling to her feet and running. "Daisy!" Daryl shouted after her, but it was too late; she was already legging it away from the frenzied campsite. The useless Claimers took a minute to subdue the two walkers, and by the time Daryl had shoved his knife into the eye socket of the bag of flesh accosting him, they were still struggling.

"Hurry up, you idiots," Joe growled, even though he hadn't lifted a finger himself. "And Daryl, get along after your lil' friend. We got this."

Daryl jogged along through the forest, pitch black except for what little moonlight drifted in through the canopy. "Daisy!" he yelled. "They're dead, y'can come out now girl." No voice answered him, and the lack of light made it hard to track her frantic footsteps through the trees. But he somehow managed to follow them far enough to spot her leaning over a stump and panting. Her breathing was so loud that she didn't hear him approaching. He slowed to a walk and came up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She jumped around with a yelp and jerked away as if she was going to start running again. "Hey, it's me. C'mon," Daryl grabbed the collar of her shirt and pulled her back.

"I don't wanna go back there, them things are everywhere," Daisy panted and shook off his hand. She wiped a hand across her nose, sniffing at the tears she barely held in, and took a few steps towards the dark abyss of the forest.

"Hey!" Daryl barked with frustration. He easily snatched her sleeve and pulled her back to face him, fist clenched firmly in the fabric of her shirt. "Don't you ever run from me, ya hear girl?" he growled unthinkingly, too close to her face with eyes dark and glaring. She shrunk under his glare and nodded.

"Sorry," she whispered timidly. She didn't even try to yank her hand away, even though adrenaline still coursed rapidly through her veins. Daryl softened a little.

"Daisy, you know I'd never let them things get ya," he muttered and released his grip, wishing he hadn't snapped at her. She nodded again but refused to meet his eyes. "C'mon, let's head back." He stalked quietly through the forest, his knife held ready, and Daisy tip-toed close behind him. The glow of the campfire guided them back to where the group were still pulling the rotten corpses aside, a sight that made Daisy hold a hand to her mouth and reach for the back of Daryl's sleeve.

"Looks like the little bitch didn't get too far then," Joe smirked as they approached. Daryl grunted and sat next to the fire on a log, reaching out to warm his hands. Daisy sat beside him, pressed up real close and trembling just a little. "Well?" Joe said expectantly, looking at Daryl's blank expression with raised eyebrows. "Ain't you gonna reprimand your claim?"

"For what," Daryl growled uneasily. He leant a little closer to Daisy, assuring their solidarity.

"For runnin'" Joe said slowly. "Ain't very team spirited of her," he sneered.

"She just got scared. I ain't gonna do shit," Daryl snapped back and wrapped a protective arm around Daisy's shoulders. "And don't none of ya think about touchin' her, neither." Daisy hid her face in his side as Joe strode closer.

"If I was you, I'd teach her a lesson now before she gets to thinkin' you never will," he growled.

"You're not me, and she's not your problem. Leave it be," Daryl growled back equally aggressively. Joe shrugged and seemed to leave it at that. He strode over to where Lenny was laid out, still hanging on to a thread of life. Daryl gripped the shivering girl at his side tighter and sighed. "Don't look," he whispered into her hair as the dying man was relieved of his struggle with a knife to the back of his skull. Daisy's eyes were squeezed firmly shut anyway, which had the added benefit of keeping stray tears in.

An hour or so passed in silence, the banter forgotten and the mood much oppressed since the attack. Eventually, the three remaining Claimers began to pull their bedrolls out while Joe sat awake on watch. The barbed wire was now encircling the camp, so Daryl stood up and grunted at Daisy to follow him to a flat area just beyond the fire. It was within the protecting wire but a good distance from the prying eyes of the other men.

"You get some sleep, Daise," Daryl gestured to his small sleeping bag. "I'll stay up an' watch 'em, we'll swap later," he added, practically reading her mind and knowing she wouldn't be comfortable with both of them asleep.

"I…I don't wanna sleep," Daisy said quietly. "You should rest first."

"C'mon girl, you're about to collapse," Daryl chided her. She was looking awfully wobbly on her feet and a yawn escaped her mouth before she could protest.

"M'kay," she shrugged, settling into the sparse bedroll. Daryl sat next to her, leant against a tree. He smiled reassuringly as she glanced at him nervously. "Don't doze off, please?"

"I won't," he nodded. Daisy rolled over and rested her head on her arm like a pillow. The night air was chilly and Daryl was glad of his thick clothing. Noises filled the air, normal forest noises like owls and small critters going about their business. A low rumble of quiet conversation drifted across from the Claimers, but even that died down along with the fire as time passed. It was an hour later when something, probably a deer, wandered loudly through the undergrowth in the distance. Daisy jumped up with her muscles tensed and ready to run. "Daisy, what're you still doing up?" Daryl hissed. "Go to sleep."

"I heard something," she insisted, eyes fixed on the distant noise.

"It's a deer, or a pig. Nothin' to worry about," Daryl grunted. He took her shoulder and pushed her back down. "Now get to sleep," he reprimanded her gruffly. She huffed indignantly but settled back down. Ten minutes passed and Daryl was sure she was sleeping. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, but decided to give her a few more hours until they swapped and he could grab whatever sleep he could get. Five minutes of crickets chirping softly, and the deer (or pig) walking closer. He knew it wasn't a walker; it was too small and walked precisely and quickly. But Daisy, not an adept hunter, didn't know that and she sat back up with a whine of fear. "Daisy," Daryl growled.

"I'm sorry! I can't sleep," she hissed. Daryl exhaled with a groan.

"C'mon, just try," he coaxed her back down. She was still tense as anything, each muscle taut under his gentle hand. The tattered flannel shirt was ripped across the shoulder and he frowned at the lines of scars there.

"Tell me a story?" she asked shyly, not bothering to shake his hand off her shoulder. Daryl traced his fingers across the scars and cleared his throat. The request was so childlike it seemed out of place in these harsh circumstances, with evidence of fear and violence just under his fingertips. He had to remind himself that she wasn't that much younger than him, that she wasn't the same fragile little kid he used to know. But perhaps there were still parts of that little kid hiding behind her trick façade.

"M'kay," Daryl grunted as he searched his memory for anything resembling a fairy tale or fable. The fact that he couldn't think of a single one was reflective of his upbringing. He settled for a more personal anecdote. "Do you remember that time we stole yer dad's whiskey? An' we took it down to the creek? You were smashed after two sips," Daryl began. Daisy chuckled sleepily. "Well anyway, then we noticed it getting' dark an' had to find our way back. Only problem was, we couldn't walk straight. There was like, what, ten shots left in that bottle? We were a couple of lightweights," Daryl continued. Daisy's breathing fell into an even pattern as his voiced rumbled on quietly and his fingers brushed over her shoulder. When Daryl had finished talking, she was genuinely asleep. He kept his hand resting on her arm, her warm skin a solid, indisputable reminder that she was here, alive and well. She slept fitfully, jerking around and mumbling incoherently. Whatever dream she was having couldn't be pleasant but Daryl didn't have the heart to wake her. Instead he sat alone with his thoughts as night wore on and the moon drifted across the cobalt sky. He thought about the prison, and the home he had had there. The family. It hit him in the guts to remember how foolishly, how naively, he had thought it could last. All that they lost, all that was taken from him, had ripped out one last little glimmer of hope he stored away. It was all gone, especially after what happened with Beth. Beth. What had she done, to deserve ending up with him? If she had been with Rick, or Michonne, maybe she would have been okay. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't his fault, none of it was his fault, but his mind kept circling back to blaming himself. Hating himself. That glimmer of hope had sparked up again when he found Daisy, but it was a small and a frightened hope, as if it were braced again for the devastation of losing someone. And Daryl knew as he looked down at the tiny form curled up by his side that above all else, he had to keep her safe. He just had to.

A few hours after falling asleep Daisy woke from a bad dream with a start. She whipped around with wide eyes searching for danger.

"Whoa, easy," Daryl quieted her. She jumped at the sound of his rough, sleepy voice. "Shh, shh" Daryl murmered quietly. "S'okay."

"How long have I been asleep?" Daisy whispered.

"Couple hours. You were out like a light."

"Dipshit. Should'a woken me," Daisy sighed.

"Nah, ya needed it," Daryl replied. "I could use some shut-eye though, if ya wouldn't mind stayin' up." Daisy nodded eagerly and exited the sleeping bag, tossing it to him. He settled into the tiny damn thing as best he could. Daisy pulled herself up against the tree and looked around the forest with a sigh. Daryl knew she'd stay awake and keep a close eye on those assholes, so he fell asleep feeling safer than he had in weeks. He dozed off slowly, noting with a smile that Daisy shifted closer to rest her legs against his back. He didn't mind the incursion and didn't push her away, instead finding the passive presence of a companion strangely calming. He slept on and off for a while, until he became aware of an annoying poking sensation on his ribs. He groaned and shoved it away but it came back, tapping his side urgently. "Go 'way," he mumbled sleepily.

"Daryl." Daisy's voiced was desperate. "Daryl!"

"What?" the perturbed hunter hissed, blinking sleepily as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of sunrise. "Wha's wrong?"

"I need to,uh, go pee," Daisy hissed bashfully. Daryl stared at her is disbelief.

"G'on then, there's bushes or some shit over there," he pointed drowsily at nowhere in particular before rolling over to bury his face under the polyester blanket.

"Can't you come with me?" Daisy whined.

"What for?" Daryl grumbled.

"In case there's fuckin' dead people walkin' around!" Daisy whisper-yelled indignantly. Daryl sighed and sat up.

"Fine, I'm comin'," he griped, grabbing some assorted weapons. "Too fuckin' early for this."

They ducked under the wire surrounding the camp and walked through the awakening forest. Birds had begun their daily chorus and a herd of deer wandered by tranquilly. It was quite picturesque, really, it was a shame that Daisy was practically jogging to find somewhere secluded. She ducked behind a thick bush and Daryl fiddled with his crossbow as he waited. The adjustment was slightly off so he spent a moment realigning it, holding the sights to his eyes to test it. Daisy appeared in those sights holding up a rude gesture.

"You gonna shoot me for waking you up, Dixon?" she laughed. Daryl let a hint of a smile cross his face as her melodic giggle eased the fog surrounding his heart.

"You still wanna go for that walk? Could scare up some breakfast," Daryl offered, pointing to a trail with his crossbow. Daisy nodded and they set off towards to rising sun, its sharp rays now visible in the crisp, clear sky. The walked in silence for a while, Daryl occasionally taking shots at passing critters. He bagged two squirrels and a skinny runt of a rabbit, which he grunted at in disgust while shoving it into his bag. After a while, Daisy had had enough of taking in the woodland scenery and all the sights and sounds of the forest. She skipped ahead to climb up a mossy log that was leaning against a tree. "Careful," Daryl warned her as the moss fell away under her boots.

"Yes, ma." Daisy screwed up her nose at him. She jumped down and fell into step beside him. "So whatever happened to that dickhead of a brother you had?"

Daryl felt the all-to-familiar pang in his gut when someone he'd lost was mentioned. "He uh, he died a while back."

"Oh. Shit, sorry," Daisy sighed. "You two were close, huh?"

Daryl shrugged. "Close enough, I guess. You remember how he was, though. Not the easiest guy to get along with."

"You can say that again," Daisy snorted. "Still. I'm sorry." She bumped his elbow with her own.

"How 'bout you? Where were you when this started?" Daryl asked, partly to change the subject but also because he was curious as to what had happened during the interlude of their friendship.

"I…was at collage," Daisy admitted. "Never too late to learn, and all that." She glanced nervously at Daryl, almost as if the older guy would scoff at her ostentatious life choices. He just smirked.

"Lookit you, Ms Fancy Education. What, our trailer park tutor wasn't good enough for you?" Daryl teased. She blushed at his teasing but chuckled, fondly remembering the dumpy old lady who had tried desperately to form some semblance of an educational institute in their backwater, hillbilly, meth-lab of a park. "You meet some good people?" Daryl asked more seriously.

"Yeah, a few. Lost track of them during the outbreak, though. But before that, I…I was with someone," Daisy stuttered. Daryl cocked his head, inviting her to continue, but she paused her talking and looked down at their boots clumping through the dead leaves that littered the floor.

"C'mon, spit it out," Daryl said.

"I uh, I was with this…girl," Daisy stammered. "She was my girlfriend, I guess." She looked nervously at the redneck, glancing away when he met her eyes. They had never talked about acceptance of…"alternative" lifestyles before, but she knew his family had been conservative. And religious. Her heart hammered faster and she wished she could take back her admission.

Daryl smiled encouragingly, waiting for her to continue, but Daisy just chewed her lip and looked nervously away. "You think I'm gonna judge ya?" Daryl asked quietly. Daisy shrugged.

"No, I just…don't know if you're cool with it," she said shyly. Daryl snorted, immediately dismissing her fears.

"What, you didn't think I know?" Daryl smirked. "C'mon girl, your first crush was on that weed dealer's daughter that used to visit every summer. And you carried around a picture of that dumb actress for years."

Daisy looked at him in astonishment. "I wasn't _that_ obvious, surely," she stuttered.

Daryl grinned. "Nah, not really, but I still knew." He looked away and rubbed his head. "And I figured, y'know, you wouldn't want much to do with…guys. In general."

Daisy shrugged. "It's not that I don't like guys, it's just that…she was so quiet. And sweet."

"Kinda what I meant," Daryl shrugged. Daisy's face took on a whimsical look of joy. This girl must be something special. "Tell me about her," he pressed, wanting to keep that look on her face.

"Her name was Tara. She was really just the best," Daisy sighed happily. "We used to skip class together and walk by the river and feed ducks. And then stay up all night studying coz, well, we skipped class all the time," Daisy laughed. Her nostalgic stories made both of them smile, and the mood seemed fitting for the ambience of the forest. The morning sun broke through the canopy and lit their way with rays, making the dull bark of the trees seem brighter and the eerie darkness of the distance fill with light. They had walked a full loop around the camp and were fast approaching it, but Daryl slowed the pace to a casual amble, his crossbow now dangling forgotten across his back. He wanted to stay this way, with Daisy contagiously happy and chattering beside him, for as absolutely long as possible.


	5. Anger

***Author's note:** I also post this story on ao3 (same title, same username) if any of you prefer to read that format **:) ***

Joe's Claimers eyed the odd pair suspiciously as they walked back to the awakening camp. Sneers and ugly grins that didn't quite meet their eyes followed their every move, mostly aimed at Daisy.

"You're at it early," Joe commented. His eyes scraped over Daisy's body. Her unusually cheerful attitude was obviously noticed, and she immediately realized that she probably ought to be acting more downtrodden. She tried to cover it up with a subtle shift away from Daryl, as if she couldn't bear to be that close to him. It was confusing how natural the action seemed. There had never been a time when Daryl had legitimately scared her, and yet it was all too easy to cringe away from his presence, as if it was second nature to detest human contact. Practise, as they say, makes perfect. Joe narrowed his eyes and focused on Daisy's downturned face. "Y'know Daryl, she don't look all that miserable ," he mentioned.

"Ain't no fun if they're miserable," Daryl grunted in reply. He possessively grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her a little closer.

"Mhm," Joe muttered. The claimers shifted nervously, feeling a certain kind of tension filling the air. "Or," Joe added provokingly, "maybe you ain't really claimed her." Daryl snorted. "Don't brush me off man, you know how serious lying is," Joe said dangerously quietly.

Daryl stood and looked around the camp for a moment. Daisy could see the accusing stares following them and felt his grip tighten with worry. "Y'all think I'm lying?" he snorted again, and Daisy hoped she was the only one who could hear the nervous tone that crept into his voice.

"Prove it," one of the Claimers called out with a smug grin. Daisy's heart skipped a beat and she felt Daryl's own breathing quicken. She didn't know what was more worrying; the fact their lie was about to be called out, or the look that Daryl gave her as he turned to face her. She took a step back but he seized her by the shirt.

"Daisy," he whispered hoarsely, a demand and an apology all in one. She knew their lives depended on keeping up the act, so she allowed him to step closer until he had her pushed up against a tree. He curled an arm around her head so her face was obscured from the others, looking every part a dominator, but she could feel his arm shaking with fear. He wasn't scared of them, she realized, he was terrified of what this would do to her. Still, she didn't struggle as he leant closer until their breaths began to mingle. Stay alive. Survive. Daisy repeated that over and over again as she slammed her eyes shut. The Claimers wolf-whistled and cheered on the act, apparently enjoying the sight of Daisy's fists clenched against the urge to twist away from his embrace. They couldn't see her face, couldn't see Daryl's hand placed delicately over her mouth so his lips only touched his own fingers, couldn't hear him whispering apologies onto her cheek. They never actually touched lips, but his stubble scratched her face as he roughly jostled their heads together and his torso was an immovable wall of stone pushing her into the coarse bark of the tree. She held in it until he pulled back. Maybe, just maybe it would have been okay if he didn't grin at her with a devilish and unapologetic smirk. It was the same grin the Claimers had on, and she knew in some part of her mind that he was just faking it, but she couldn't help shoving him away. Hard. His chest was rock-solid but he took the blow and stumbled back.

"Asshole," she hissed venomously. Their impressive acting skills seemed to convince the Claimers, who let out a smattering of applause interspersed with malicious laughter. Daryl's façade dropped and he looked at Daisy with pain and guilt swimming in his damp eyes, but she pushed him away again. She let out a breath that was almost a cry, almost a yelp, and she saw him swallow his own sob. The look in her eyes said it all. This was no longer an act. He had crossed the only line she had ever made, crossed it for too long to take back.

"Now that's what they should look like, Mr Dixon," Joe laughed at Daisy's incensed expression. Joe didn't seem to notice how close Daryl was to breaking down. Daryl grunted and shrugged, staring defiantly at the Claimers, daring them to challenge him again. He stomped closer to the fire and flung himself down, setting to work on skinning the squirrels. Daisy was still standing next to the tree, unable to move. She knew if she took a step she might scream or hurl, or pick up a stick and attack the one friend she had in this world. She wished Daryl would turn around, look at her with puppy-dog eyes so she could forgive him, but she couldn't get the image of his sadistic grin out of her mind. It wasn't him, she reminded herself. This wasn't him. It was them, it was this group, it was this world. Daisy managed to ease herself to the forest floor and sat in the damp, decaying leaves. Sat there and dug her nails into her arms, desperately trying to quell the rising panic and memories that Daryl had stirred up. Her father's face flashed before her eyes and she dug in harder, moving her focus onto something, anything, more intense. It wasn't Daryl's fault, she knew that, and her rage was mostly unjustified. But he had been the only one to ever treat her differently. To ever respect every boundary and sensitivity she had. Crossing that line seemed like an irrevocable turning point in their friendship and she felt betrayed. She gripped her head and drew her knees up to her chest. Was this an over-reaction? He didn't even kiss her, after all. But he had been so close, so controlling, so reminiscent of the type of person she had been scarred by earlier in life. An hour passed and Daryl finished cooking his catch. He offered her a plate but she couldn't even look him in the eye, couldn't think of eating. It went untouched by her side. The Claimers laughed softly amongst themselves and Daisy knew, somehow, that she was the punchline to their jokes. Sounds drifted past her, mixing with her preoccupied thoughts, and she recognized the noises of the camp being packed up. A blurry figure appeared in the edge of her vision and crouched next to her. She hadn't even realised she had been crying until she had to wipe her eyes to focus on the figure. Daryl. She looked down again.

"Daise," he whispered pleadingly. His face was a picture of despair as she stared resolutely at the scratches and nail marks on her arms and pointedly not at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching for her hand. She jerked it away and her eyes snapped to his with a piercing glare. "Daisy, I had to," he whispered. His voice cracked a little.

"I know that," Daisy mumbled back. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at them."

"Ya should be mad at me," Daryl said with an apologetic smile.

"Just…just leave me alone, please?" Daisy sniffed. Daryl sighed and stood up, casting one last glance at her shaking hands. She knew he wanted to hold them, to hold her, to remove the tarnish over their friendship. But it was still too vivid, both what he had done and the memories now resurfacing.

"M'kay girl, but we're leaving now," Daryl said. He walked away and Daisy followed behind, for once not glued to his back like a baby marmoset. The group noticed and teased Daryl incessantly. Daisy could see his shoulders twitching and she wondered how he resisted laying into them. They walked for hours, heading for a town supposedly down the road a ways. The whole trip, Daisy didn't say a single word, only gracing Daryl with a nod each time he asked if she was okay. She kept her distance mostly, but still couldn't stop herself crowding into Daryl's back each time a walker showed up. Their rotten flesh and exposed bones and guttural gurgling noises still made her skin crawl so hard she thought it might just fall off. She had a knife that Daryl had wordlessly passed her tucked into her belt, but the thought of actually using it was petrifying.

When they reached the town, which was little more than a cluster of houses, they began systemically searching each one. They were in a grocery store, the Claimers and Daryl spread out between the high metal shelves, when Daisy spotted a dangerous temptation. A single unsmashed bottle of Jack Daniels lay amongst a pile of shattered glass. She picked it up, running her hands over the familiar label. It was a sudden and cruel reminder of her weekends with Tara. They used to buy a bottle and take turns making up stupid drinking games. Take a shot every time one of them smiled. Take a swig for every fact from their history class that they couldn't remember. Drink when a dorm member bust in and demanded they turned down their wild rock music. Take a sip for each homophobic comment they had heard that day. Comments like that never bothered her when she was with Tara. When she was alone they stung like an arrow to the chest, but with Tara they just made her laugh, and laugh even harder when they kissed in front of aghast old ladies who started tutting and fussing. Daisy lovingly circled the logo on the bottle, lost for a moment in her memories. She missed Tara with a deep, uncontrollable pain that was always throbbing in the back of her mind. Maybe with a little drink, that feeling would be numbed away. It always used to work for her, alcohol. Took away the biting thoughts that clouded her mind sometimes. It was an issue, she admitted that, always had been. Back when they lived at the trailer park, she and Daryl had got shitfaced nearly every weekend just for something to do. Daryl, he could always stop or skip a weekend if he wanted, but Daisy was never able to tear herself away from the sharp liquid. She was always meaning to quit, but now the world was over and really, what was the point?

"Hey Daryl, ya little bitch hit the jackpot," one of the Claimers called as he rounded the corner and saw Daisy holding the bottle. She looked up and clutched the bottle tighter, a rush of anger growing at the thought of giving it up.

"Claimed," she snapped quickly. Joe, who had been passing by, let out a bark of laughter.

"Well ain't you just the feistiest lil' darling," he laughed. "She fuckin' claimed somethin', what a gem," he snorted to himself more than the group.

"Joe, surely that ain't allowed?" the Claimer asked indignantly.

"I don't see why not, Michael. The lady clearly claimed it first," Joe chuckled. Daisy's ferocity seemed to amuse him greatly. Michael growled and shook his head in disappointment. Daisy nodded towards Joe and lifted the bottle, taking a deep swig. At that very moment, Daryl appeared with an annoyed look on his face.

"C'mon Daisy, no drinking. This isn't a fuckin' weekend getaway," Daryl sighed. Obviously, he too remembered their weekend escapaded. Evidently he also remembered her…difficulties...as he tried to snatch the bottle from her grasp. She slipped away from his hands and raised her middle finger.

"Y'know what Daryl? Fuck you. I found this shit, an' I'll fuckin' drink it all," Daisy snapped vehemently. "Find your own, dickhead." Daryl made another attempt at the bottle but she shoved him away and downed a good amount of the burning amber liquid.

"Daisy," Daryl groaned in annoyance.

"A bit of spunk, I like. But you gonna let her disrespect you like that?" Joe queried.

"When're you gonna quit telling me what to do with 'er?" Daryl spat back at him. "She ain't your fuckin' problem."

"All I'm sayin' is you better not be soft on her. I don't know what rule that'd be breaking but it sure is inexcusable," Joe smirked. Daryl growled with irritation and snatched Daisy's arm, dragging her swiftly to the back of the shop. He pushed her roughly into the store room and slammed the door.

"Gimme that," he demanded. He snatched it from her hands and poured the contents onto the concrete floor. It splashed up and filled the area with the acidic smell of alcohol.

"Fuckin' bitch," Daisy spat. "Fuckin' arrogant piece of shit asshole." Her words were slurred and with the liquor flooding her stomach, her timid personality was replaced with a more outspoken one.

"Quit actin' like a brat," Daryl snapped at her and threw the empty bottle to the floor.

"Leave me alone," Daisy hissed at him, her eyes filled with something akin to hatred. Daryl groaned and rubbed his face with both hands.

"Daisy, you're pissed. Quit bein' difficult," Daryl grumbled. "I know you're mad at me, but can we put that aside for the moment?"

"Yeah, Dixon, I am fuckin' furious with you," Daisy slurred violently at him. She poked his chest with a sharp finger. It hurt. "I trusted you. I always did. And then you go and pull that shit"- she paused to gesticulate unclearly- "and now look at us."

"Dammit Daisy, what was I supposed to do?" Daryl barked back at her. "What the fuck was I meant to do? Let them kill us? I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to scare you. All I'm tryna do is fuckin' keep you safe." Daisy was taken aback by his sudden tirade. She gulped and wiped her eyes, which were becoming more and more blurry with each moment. Perhaps she shouldn't have guzzled that much liquor.

"I don't fuckin' know, Daryl," Daisy muttered quietly with a scowl.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doin', all I know is I gotta look out for you. I'm tryin' my fuckin' best, Daisy," he ranted. "Any wrong move and you're dead, or worse. Or I'm dead. D'ya understand?" Daryl snarled, getting right up close to her face. "And now they're expectin' me to beat the holy hell outta you, or so help me god they'll make me do that in front of them too."

Daisy glared at him with anger. "You're a piece of work, Dixon."

"Fuck's sake," Daryl growled. "Listen to me closely girl. I'm gonna make some fuckin' noise, and you better scream like a dyin' animal or they'll finish the job themselves," he instructed. Daisy glared defiantly at him with a cocked eyebrow, crossing her arms defensively. Daryl looked right into her drunken eyes that glared at him with disdain, and he slammed his fist on the wall right next to her head. Daisy jumped away with a scream of fear and threw her arms in front of her face. She took a moment to compose herself and raised her head to look at him. She screamed again, but this time it was one of pure frustration. Daryl turned away from her and angrily drove his fist into the wall. Daisy yelled one last time, her voice so filled with anger that she saw Daryl flinch away a little, and she couldn't resist throwing a half-hearted punch at his exposed back. He whipped around at the blow and stared at her. She was about to swing another fist but he caught her wrist. "Enough," he barked. She attempted another yell but her voice cracked and instead she wound up bawling in between loud, raking breaths. Daryl hissed and took a step away. He flung a stack of boxes to the floor, the action filled with anger at either himself or at Daisy. Probably both. Daisy was still processing being absolutely fuming at him and also a little bit petrified. Daryl had never, ever snapped at her or been so openly aggressive, and it bothered her. She could see it bothered him as well; he held his head in his hands and she could see blood on his knuckles from punching the wall. She slid to the floor right in the middle of the room, wracked with sobs of anger. Trust them both to fuck each other up so thoroughly. Daryl knelt beside her and tried to put an arm around her but she furiously threw it off.

"Don't fuckin' touch me," Daisy ground out between her shuddering breaths. Daryl sank to the floor behind her, turned away, and they leaned against each other's backs. They both shook from crying so hard, but neither leant away from the minimal contact. They stayed like that for a good few minutes, each just taking in the new sides of the other. This was their first real fight, a foreign experience that upset them both more than they could have anticipated. Daisy buried her head in her knees and covered her ears to block out Daryl's quiet whimpers. She knew he was trying. She knew he was protecting her, and deep down, she knew he was doing it all for her. But she also knew now that he had a spark of anger deep inside, a spark he kept contained for her benefit. And it scared her. Daryl shifted around, apparently done crying. He dragged himself to her side.

"Daisy," he said hoarsely, his voice raw. He put a hand on her head. "Sweetheart, please look at me." His voice was so desperate that she raised her head just a little. "Baby, I'd never hurt you," Daryl sniffed. The sweet-talking endearments sounded odd coming from his rough, direct voice.

"Why the fuck did you do that, then?" Daisy managed to stutter. Daryl sighed.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. They had to hear it," Daryl mumbled. He nervously stroked her hair, obviously terrified she would recoil from him. She couldn't bring herself to pull away from the comfort of his gentle hand.

"Why can't you just ignore them?" Daisy sniffed. "Why can't we leave?"

"Look, Daisy…they're not fuckin' around. They'll kill us," Daryl said quietly. Daisy's face crumpled and Daryl tried to pull her in, but that really was too much and she shoved him away.

"I know they would. And I know you're keeping me safe," Daisy said, "but sometimes it feels like you're one of them."

Daryl was silent and just sat looking at her. He stood and offered her his hand, but she stood on her own and stepped back from his outstretched arm. "I'm not them. I'm not," he said firmly.

"That's what I thought," Daisy shrugged, "but now and then you make me question that. Question YOU." Before Daryl could respond, she turned and strode out of the door. The group had been unashamedly listening just within earshot of her loudest yells, and saw her walk past with tears streaming. Seemingly convinced, they congratulated Daryl as he followed soon after. He paused and looked at them, wondering if Daisy was right, if there was any resemblance between them and him. It sickened him to realize that there might actually be more than a few similarities. He glanced out of the window of the store and saw Daisy sitting on the side of the road. All he wanted to do was run over and hold her, make her understand why he did the things he did, but he knew she'd just push him away. It broke his heart just a little more, and he realised with a flash of anguish that death wasn't the only way to loose someone.


	6. Dr Daryl

**Author's note:** this chapter contains mentions of self-injury so read at own risk!

They set up a sort of camp in the cluster of buildings that was the town. Daryl claimed a decrepit room in the most intact house for himself and Daisy, whilst the rest of them were spread out in the many other rooms of the large residence. The area seemed mostly clear of walkers and there were enough supplies that Joe had decided to stick around and gather some. They were still looking for a car or something to transport their ever-growing pile of scavenged junk, but as soon as they found something suitable then Joe was hell-bent on tracking down some guy to a place called Terminus, wherever that might be. The first night in the village was odd, because as well as having a roof over his head, there was also Daisy to consider. Daryl grew increasingly worried as time passed after their brief altercation in the grocery store. She had withdrawn into a numb shell and still refused to acknowledge his presence with anything more than a step away if he got too close. Sometimes he would catch her looking at him with a forlorn look, almost as if she was missing his proximity, but as soon as their eyes met she would snap her head down and resume her sullen expression. The first night they had spent in their new digs, a moss-covered damp house with cracked plaster on all sides, she had immediately curled up on the sofa and gone to sleep. Or pretended to sleep. Either way, she didn't eat and only muttered a short reply when Daryl bade her goodnight. He had taken the musty double bed that smelled like mould and piss, but it was still a bed. The door had a lock, which set both their minds at ease and let them both sleep soundly for most of the night, apart from the moments when Daryl would wake from his sleep and hear Daisy tossing and turning, and maybe sniffling just a little. The next morning, she didn't eat any of the fresh squirrel he had gone out to hunt. Seeing as her last meal was over a day ago, Daryl tried to put his foot down.

"Eat it," he grunted, pushing the plate of flame-roasted meat towards her.

"I'm not hungry, thanks," Daisy replied dully. She sat on her couch and was flipping through some book about nature.

"Yes y'are. You need to eat something, girl," Daryl insisted. He got no reply and Daisy pretended to be more interested in her book. Daryl sighed. He recognized that she had every right to be angry with him, and he felt guilty for being an absolute ass to her. It would be nice to blame the Claimers for his behaviour, but truthfully, he had always had streak of dickhead in him that he tried to keep hidden from people like Daisy. Someone like Rick or Carol, they would understand that it was just a small part of him, but someone like Daisy would read too much into it and start assuming things about him that just weren't true. The appetizing smell of meat filled the small room and Daryl waved the plate in front of her.

"I'm fine," Daisy muttered, her glare drifting briefly to meet Daryl's similar expression. He raised an eyebrow at such a ridiculous statement and snorted. No reply.

"Suit yourself. I'm goin' out to look for weapons and shit. Lock the door behind me," Daryl huffed and strode out of the room. It was mid-morning and the angle of sunlight lit up every piece of dust and grime in the hallway as he tramped down the stairs. The others were already out searching, and he was eager to get in before they ransacked everywhere. The first house he explored was a bust, with nothing more than old linen in the bare cupboards. Still, he managed to find a jacket for Daisy. He had asked her if she was cold last night and she denied it, but the sound of her teeth chattering had kept him up a while. The blanket he had thrown over her once she fell asleep had been wrapped around her shoulders when he left that morning. Moving on to the next building as light rain began to fall, Daryl wondered how long she would be in this funk for.

The next house was more successful. It offered up a decent first aid kit with a couple of extra bandages. He had half a mind to wrap up her forearms to stop her digging her nails in them. Apparently she thought no one would notice, or perhaps she did it unconsciously, but she had always had a habit of clawing up her arms when she was stressed. Daryl had seen her do it more frequently the past few days when they were walking or standing around, her knuckles white as they clenched and dug her nails in. It left little indentations and sometimes scabs all over her arms, clearly visible and conspicuous whenever he had touched her. He was just glad she didn't seem to be repeating her other self-destructive habits she had taught herself when she was a teenager. He still remembered that time he walked into her trailer and caught a glimpse of a Stanley knife as she guiltily slid it into her pocket and tugged her sleeves down over red lines on her arms. It had been a lightbulb moment, explaining why she never wanted to go swimming and never wore revealing clothing. Daryl had always thought she was just being shy but he eventually found out that she had similar incriminating scars on most parts of her body. It made him all the more disgusted and hateful of her father, who did nothing about the scars, and even added his own special kind to her back with lashings from a belt buckle. Similar scars were carved into Daryl's own back, and the two shared some kind of oneness through the violent blemishes, a connection that went deeper than the words that could never explain the sensation of living with a permanent reminder of the pain.

After a few hours of searching, Daryl had mustered up some clothes, the first aid kit, a decent axe and some food. The rain had begun to fall more heavily and he set up some vessels to collect it in before heading back inside. None of the others were back yet so he strolled casually through the house and up the steep stairs. As he rounded the corner, he saw the door to his room slightly ajar; yet he was sure Daisy had locked it. His heartbeat quickened as he rushed inside and saw her couch empty.

"Daisy?" he called breathlessly. He tried to calm his breathing and rationalized that she probably just stepped out to piss or something. Then a horrible, familiar gurgling sound reached his ears from the bathroom a few doors down. No. Impossible. No WAY a walker could have snuck in without someone noticing. He dropped all his shit and ran to the bathroom. His blood ran cold as he took in Daisy's tiny figure hunched over the sink, the guttural noises apparently coming from her. "Daisy?" he repeated nervously.

She let out a suffering moan and swore under her breath. "Fuck," she whined before violently throwing up into the sink. Daryl rushed to her side and put a hand on her back. She was sweating yet shivering at the same time, her skin awfully pale and her eyes squinted shut against whatever was agonizing her.

"What the hell Daisy, what's wrong?" Daryl gaped in confusion, his own adrenaline rising as he realized he had no idea what to do.

"I th-think I'm dying, Daryl," Daisy let out a soft wail of fear. Her shaking increased and she was coughing and breathing rapidly, heavily. Daryl tried not to throw up himself.

"Are you bit?" he asked, his voice so full of fear that he didn't recognize it.

"No," Daisy shook her head. "Christ," she groaned, immediately regretting the movement. She shoved herself away from the sink, wiped her mouth with a rag of towelling hanging from the shower, and staggered towards the door.

"Whoa, lemme help ya," Daryl murmured softly and guided her back to their room with an arm around her waist. She didn't even try to push him away, although that was probably because she was using what little energy she had to focus on not hurling again. Daryl deposited her on the couch and took a step back to try and work out what the fuck was wrong with her. A quick glance around the room told him that she hadn't eaten the squirrel or done anything but read, but…in the corner sat a can of beans, its lid roughly cut open and a spoon sticking out of it. Daryl snorted in disbelief. She had really been so petty as to ignore his food and go find some on her own. Quite resourceful, he'd give her that, but as he picked up the can it slowly clicked into place. "Daise, did you eat this?" She nodded softly from her foetal position on the couch. "Silly girl, it's three years out of date," Daryl breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing next to her crumpled form. He took a massive breath and tried to shake out the residual adrenaline that was making his hands tremble.

"Am I gonna die?" Daisy whimpered pitifully, sounding so wretched that Daryl couldn't help but chuckle.

"No sweetheart, you'll be okay soon," he smiled, still dizzy with relief. Daisy grimaced at his expression, obviously displeased with his casual attitude now he knew it wasn't life-threatening. She was about to say something but wasn't able to, instead she turned her face into the couch and clutched her abdomen. "Try to sleep, I'm gonna go find something for you," Daryl whispered, locking the door as he hurried out from the room. He managed to collect a few bottles of rainwater, which he dutifully boiled over a makeshift stove they had set up in the kitchen; it consisted of a fire in the base of an oven. The oven had probably cost a few thousand dollars at some point, and now it was singed and damaged beyond repair or recognition. Funny, how the end of the world alters your perception of what's important and what's not. After raiding the pantry and discovering a stash of ginger ale, Daryl made his way back upstairs. Daisy was comatose and probably asleep, so he sat next to her and gently held her arm that was dangling off the couch. It was peppered with nail marks that overlaid the thinner, deeper scars from all those years ago. So many, and so many more in places he couldn't see. He traced a comforting finger over each of the lines. It reminded him of Beth's scar, the one she tried to keep hidden under bracelets. He hadn't meant to yell at her about it that time they had gone drinking, but that line on her wrist was so reminiscent of Daisy that he couldn't help bursting out. He marvelled at the absolute determination, the desperation, that it would take to willingly mar your own flesh in that way. But he also understood it, and as he traced the marks on Daisy's skin, his eyes unconsciously found his own scars, the cigarette burns across his left fist. They weren't really noticeable, but there they were, reminding him that sometimes, a more permanent marker seemed fitting for a particular time or feeling. He felt like a hypocrite for all the times he had made Daisy promise to stop, promise to throw the blades away. The white circles of scar tissue layered on his hand were a harsh reminder of what could happen when a person was pushed too far, too often.

"Daryl," Daisy slurred groggily from the couch. Daryl jumped, startled out of his depressing nostalgia, and dropped her arm. She tried to sit up but immediately clutched her head and rocked to the side.

"Don't sit up, ya won't feel too steady for a while. Jus' lay back," Daryl instructed. He mopped her forehead with a damp rag and settled her back down under the moth-eaten blanket she was using.

"This is kinda my fault, I'm sorry," Daisy muttered abashedly and risked a fleeting apologetic glance at Daryl.

"Shh," he hushed her, although he couldn't help a small smirk. This would probably teach her that being petty in an apocalypse was never a good idea. Better to be alive and well with hurt pride rather than in a situation like this. "Here, drink some," Daryl said, offering her the ginger beer.

"Don't want any," she complained.

"I know, but it'll make ya feel better" Daryl coaxed her. She took the bottle and sipped a little. "More," Daryl insisted. Once she had choked down a few gulps, he let her put the bottle down and resume her tight grip on the ragged blanket.

"Now some water," Daryl offered her a bottle. She shook her head and batted it away with a whine. He held it to her mouth. "C'mon, just a bit."

"I'll hurl again," Daisy warned him, a dangerously queasy glint in her eye. Daryl shrugged and kept the bottle outstretched, fixing her with an inflexible gaze. "Ass," she muttered quietly as she took a begrudging sip.

"Good girl," Daryl murmured as he fussily wiped at her mouth and brow with the damp rag. The honest concern in his demeanour was undeniably sweet and Daisy rewarded his uncharacteristic bedside manner with a small smile.

"Thanks for puttin' up with me," she mumbled from somewhere amidst a nauseous fog. Daryl shrugged and took her hand to check her pulse, which was close enough to normal.

"Ain't no bother," he dismissed. She was pretty close to being sound asleep, so he wiped off her forehead one more time and then sat on the other end of the couch. He picked up the book she had been reading and realized she had been doodling in the blank spaces. Sketches of walkers, of a cute girl who he could only assume was Tara, and even a few of him. He sighed and looked over to the sleeping waif who was curled up next to him. As he pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders, he wished it would be okay to lean in and kiss her flushed cheek, if only to show her how much she has worried him and how glad he was that she was almost okay. But he knew, deep down, that she was still holding that resentful grudge and tinge of fear towards him, and that her feverish stupor was only fixing it temporarily before their relationship returned to sullen silence and crude glances.


	7. Closer

Drifting between fitful sleep and muddled moments of consciousness, Daisy's only constant was the tender calloused hand that held her own. She supposed it must be Daryl's and her nauseated brain tried to remind her that she was still angry at him, but it was hard to remember why. All she could manage was here and now, and right at this moment he was being suffocatingly sweet. Whenever she awoke he was right there stroking her forehead with a cloth, or offering her water, or another blanket, and while she dozed she was sure that he stayed right next to the couch. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up against the waves of fever that hit her, which exposed her scars to his watchful gaze. Had she been fully conscious, she might have dragged her arm from his grip and hidden the worst ones. It wasn't because of the way he traced them over and over again, it was more fact that he knew, he saw. It was hard to formulate any cohesive thoughts, anyway. The best thing to do was just sleep until the haze cleared from her mind and she stopped feeling like she was about to expel her stomach through her mouth.

It must have been a whole day later that Daisy actually managed to sit up. Unusually, Daryl wasn't right beside her, but she managed to find some water which she guzzled thirstily. The next activity, changing her sweat-soaked clothes, proved more difficult but she struggled into a less greasy outfit in less than five minutes. She was just staggering down the hallway, leaning on the walls for support, when Daryl appeared from some other room.

"You're up," he smiled, his tone a little apprehensive, as if he was still unsure where they stood with each other. Daisy couldn't be bothered being angry at this point, she just nodded back. "How're ya feeling?" Daryl questioned, taking a step closer so he could squint at her face and appraise her condition.

"Yeah, okay," Daisy muttered. She ducked at the movement of him raising his hand and swatted it away from her face. "You don't need to play nurse, I'm fine."

Daryl looked dejectedly at her, disheartened at the tension creeping between then again. "Ya feel like eatin'?"

"Nah," she replied with a shrug. "I was just heading outside."

"I'll come with ya," Daryl offered. Daisy began to protest but he waved a hand to stop her. "Yeah, yeah, I'll leave you alone. But you're barely upright, girl."

They exited their current home and Daisy blinked at the change of light. Daryl was true to his word and didn't speak to her. The afternoon air was cool and refreshing, blowing away some of the fuzz from Daisy's mind. She walked down the garden path and stopped short at the sight of an enormous pile of supplies in the garage. She turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at Daryl.

"They got a bit carried away. Joe's still looking for a car or somethin', coz we ain't gonna be able to carry all that," he shrugged. They continued on in silence. Silence that filled the whole town, crept around every building, broken only by occasional shouts between the group. Daisy kept a little bit closer to Daryl as they walked past the Claimers, who were busy ransacking a garage, and tried hard to ignore their crude hand gestures. They whistled and taunted Daryl. He shut them up with his signature glare and a lazy hand rested on the hilt of his knife./p

"Can we go into the woods?" Daisy asked once they reached the outskirts of the town. Daryl nodded and took the lead into the thick, twisting murk of the woods. "Um, about what I said," Daisy began nervously.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder. "What?" he casually asked.

"About leaving me alone. You don't have to," Daisy mumbled. "I mean, I get it if you don't wanna be around me, but-"

"Whoa, what?" Daryl interrupted her. "Daisy, I ain't mad at ya." The forest echoed with silence as he stopped his brisk pace and Daisy followed suit.

"You sure acted like it," Daisy muttered under her breath.

"Well I ain't, 'kay?" Daryl insisted, a concerned note creeping into his usually gruff voice. Daisy nodded and they shared one more calculating gaze before their trudge through the forest began again. It was peaceful out here, away from the Claimers' yelling and the guttural noises of passing walkers. The woods were empty of any threat or danger, and Daisy felt better with every step she took, not just in body but in mind as well. Funny, how a simple act like walking was enough to sort through any amount of interfering thoughts. As they walked and the distance between them shortened, Daisy found herself thinking of the times before the turn, before she left the trailer park. Most of those years were blocked out, but she hung onto a few cherished memories. Daryl's hunting shack where they made cocktails from moonshine and whiskey. The time they had both tried running away together, only to be brought back a few days later by an apologetic Merle. The way Daryl used to grump and grouch about a "fuckin' girly kid" following him around, and yet never left her side for a moment. As she sorted through these memories, Daisy put together a pattern. Daryl was sweet to her, yes, but he was also still Daryl. He would snap and grouch at her, never because of her, but just as a reaction to everything else. And no matter what, he was always, always there by her side. She stopped walking.

"Daryl," she said softly. They had stopped by a picturesque stream, its babbling melody a fitting song for her current enlightened mood.

"Wha'?" Daryl questioned, his attention on a rustling noise far off, crossbow ready to shoot whatever little critter it was.

"Will you listen for a minute?" Daisy huffed, her tone so solemn that he immediately snapped his attention to her. "I know things have been weird since that…fight. But I want to say I'm sorry for my part, and…and thanks for looking out for me," Daisy burst out with a crimson blush fast spreading across her face. Daryl was silent for a moment and stood like a statue while he processed her words.

"Daisy," he finally said, "it's my fault. I'm the one that should be sorry." Daisy shrugged and shook her head in disagreement. "You know I always got ya, girl," Daryl muttered. He stepped closer to put a hand on her elbow, which she didn't even think of shaking off.

"I know you do. You always have," Daisy replied with glistening eyes. Daryl grunted as he realized she had started crying.

"What'd I say now?" he asked uncomfortably in confusion.

Daisy let out a brisk laugh. "You said the right thing, dipshit," she smiled.

"Thank Christ," Daryl muttered. "C'mere, Daise," he pulled her closer and let her wrap her arms around his neck. Her hands got mixed up in his crossbow and his arms were too long to fit properly around her petite form, but they made it work. The world was silent around them apart from the hypnotizing sounds of each other's breathing. Daisy buried her face into the crook of his neck and tried to snapshot this moment in her mind, just her and her only friend in the world, locked together with an unspoken promise of lifelong loyalty. She clutched him almost as tightly as his arms did her. They didn't say anything, didn't need to, just stood there in absolute unity and content. After a long moment they drew back, and Daisy felt an unspecific happiness at how close their faces were. She could see every line, scar, and bruise covering his face, every flicker of his eyes, every almost-smile his mouth formed. As she took her arms away she couldn't help but brush her lips against his, only the faintest touch, only to show him she didn't mind his closeness. Daryl leant back a little in surprise, his eyes questioning. For the briefest moment when their lips had touched, he had felt an almost complete sense of peace. She stepped back and broke their gaze, wondering nervously if she'd done the wrong thing as pretended to study the stream.

" 'Ay," Daryl grunted gently. He bumped her with his elbow. "It's gonna be dark soon, better head back."

They walked back in silence, a far more comfortable silence than before. Sometimes Daisy would catch him glancing at her, or he'd catch her, and they'd share an awkward smile. Back at the house, Daisy tried to act suppressed around the Claimers, but it was harder than before now that Daryl was giving her subtle smiles in between pretending to be disinterested. He cooked up something for the two of them and gruffly ordered her to follow him to their room, going so far as to shove her along with a push to the arm. The Claimers bought every second of it, didn't even see the new connection growing between them.

"Ya hungry?" Daryl asked, his brisk persona dropped as soon as the door shut behind them.

"Lil' bit," Daisy nodded. They shared the plate of food and Daryl produced two tins of fruit from somewhere. "Oh, neat! My favourite," Daisy chuckled and grabbed one off him.

"These ones aren't three years old, either," Daryl teased her as he pried the lids off the tins. Daisy poked her tongue out at the joke and set into the fruit, it's delicious sweetness the best thing she had eaten in weeks. "Ya okay?" Daryl questioned.

"Yeah, fine," Daisy reassured him. He cocked his head and kept staring at her. "What?"

"Nothin', it's just…your arms," Daryl gestured.

"Oh." She rolled down her sleeves over the marks. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it," she said with a convincing smile. Daryl huffed.

"Yeah, right," he grunted. He rose from the couch they had been sitting on and rustled through his stash of supplies until he came across the bandages he had found. He waved them at Daisy's exasperated face. "C'mon, gimme it," he ordered briskly as she tucked her arms into her sides.

"All you ever do is patch me up," Daisy grumbled. Daryl raised an eyebrow at her to silence her complaining. She reluctantly handed over her arm and let him wrap a good part of her forearm up. The other forearm needed covering completely and Daryl couldn't help sighing over the state it was in. Daisy snatched her arm away. "If you don't wanna see it, don't look," she snapped.

"Sorry, I jus' didn't know how bad it was," Daryl muttered. Daisy refused to meet his eyes as he finished. She looked like a mummy, but at least her nervous digging nails were separated from her undeserving skin. "I wish ya wouldn't," Daryl added quietly.

"Oh, you're one to talk. I seen you're fuckin' hand," Daisy barked back. He raised his hands in surrender.

" 'Kay, I was jus' saying."

"Well, don't," Daisy said a little softer. She affectionately bumped him with her knee to show she wasn't actually too upset. Their hands were already pretty close since both of them sat on the sofa, but Daisy reached her fingers out a little further and found his hand, found the bumps of his scars just under her fingertips. She looked at him with an unspoken question hovering on her lips.

"Started after ya left the park," he shrugged. They said no more about it, but sat a little closer as Daryl cleaned his crossbow and Daisy doodled in her book. Her face went through a myriad of emotions as she drew, pencil scratching a new story into the pages of the old book. "Is that Tara?" Daryl asked and pointed at the sketch of a smiling girl.

"Yeah, it is," Daisy smiled sadly.

"You miss her," Daryl said, a statement rather than a question. Daisy nodded. "Did you love her?"

Daisy shrugged. "I don't know. I think so. We had fun together and she made me okay." She was so lost in the memory of Tara that she barely noticed her fingers reaching for her soft skin, aching to dig in.

" 'Ay. Stop it," Daryl gently scolded her, taking her hand to stop it's destructive path. She wound their fingers together and smiled softly at him.

"What about you? Did you find someone to make you okay?" she asked, her own curiosity a good excuse to change the subject. Daryl nodded.

"I was with a group after it all happened. Decent people. They…were good for me," Daryl sighed. He didn't have to tell her what had happened. It was obvious by the look in his eyes that he had lost them, in one way or another. They talked for a little longer about people they used to know, although neither could think of anyone more precious than the other. Eventually as the evening drew on, Daryl got up to lock the door.

"You want the bed?" He offered. Daisy shook her head.

"I'm good on the couch," she yawned. They settled down into their respective beds and said goodnight. Daisy could hear chatter from the Claimers drifting up the stairs and, far in the distance, gunshots from some far away conflict. The gunfire ceased and she tried not to think about how that was probably because whoever it was had been overrun by the dead. She rolled over and turned her attention to a more comforting subject; Daryl. He was dozing with an arm over his eyes, his cotton shirt clinging to each curve. It was hard to notice under that leather jacket he always wore, but he had really filled out since their trailer park days. No longer was he a scrawny, big-mouthed redneck with a penchant for alcoholism, instead he has become someone stronger, both physically and mentally, and someone…better. Daisy silently thanked whoever had helped this transformation, and she wished she could meet his old group. Of course, she had always loved him unconditionally, but this version of Daryl was a much easier one to love. Lying there in the dark, staring at his solid chest rising and falling, Daisy realized that she did. She loved him. Always had, really. The suffocating darkness got too much for her and she tip toed from the couch towards his sleeping form. The look of innocence on his face was so pure she couldn't bear to disturb him, so she gently eased herself onto the other side of the bed. It was enough, just lying there in the dark next to him. It felt safe and warm, like sitting next to a campfire. That's what he was; a campfire. Warm and safe and bright, a little dangerous at times, but essentially a source of comfort. She reached out a hand and laid it close to his side, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Yeah, he was a campfire, and no matter how many times she got burned, Daisy couldn't resist staying as close as she could get.


	8. Wake Up

Daryl awoke after too few hours of sleep. He wondered groggily what had woken him. As his mind slowly started processing the dark room, he became aware of a lump that had appeared on the bed. A breathing lump. He almost jumped out of his skin as the bump shifted slightly, but it only took a moment for him to realize it was just Daisy. She was curled up next to him with her shaggy blanket pulled across her shoulders. Daryl rubbed his eyes and looked again to make sure it was her, and he wasn't just having some weird dream. But her couch was empty and he could sense the undeniable feeling of another person's presence. He sat up, leaning back on his sturdy arms, and wondered what to do. He couldn't just ignore her and go back to sleep, not when she probably needed him but had been too shy to wake him. He leant over and poked her shoulder.

"Psst. Daisy," he hissed quietly, aware that the other occupants of the house were closer than he would have liked. She blinked drowsily at him and rubbed her eyes. "Ya okay?"

"Go 'way," Daisy groaned sleepily. She covered her face with the scrappy blanket.

"Ya need something?" Daryl yawned.

"Nope," Daisy replied with a sympathetic yawn of her own. "I just don't like sleeping by myself," she added shyly. "Do you mind?"

"Nah," Daryl said softly. He shuffled back into his comfortable position, aware of Daisy's own shifting. It was strange, this new type of closeness, and neither of them quite knew how to handle it. Daryl inched closer and pulled his own blanket up. "Cold?"

"I'm 'kay," Daisy shrugged.

"C'mon, your shiverin' is keepin' me up," Daryl scoffed. "Under."

Daisy wriggled under the thicker blanket. "Thanks," she muttered. They didn't say much else, but both were acutely aware of the other's presence. Daryl tried not to move away from the contact as she fidgeted closer, trying both to fit under her half of the cover and get closer to his warmth. It wasn't that he felt uncomfortable with her nearness; it was just that he could practically hear her heart beating faster and he worried about her boundaries. He laid absolutely still, his backbone digging into the decrepit mattress, his arms curled around his mildewed pillow. Daisy was scrunched up at his side, her back leaning against his ribs. She fell asleep in minutes. It was easy to tell exactly when, because her breathing changed from short, nervous breaths into longer, deeper ones. The consistent rhythm of her soft inhalations was soothing and soon Daryl was also blinking tiredly. He risked a little shuffle to realign the curve of her spine with his side. Since she had moved almost entirely onto his side of the bed, he assumed she was alright with whatever this intimacy was. Whether it was just for comfort or something more, he was more than alright with this new, alien feeling of closeness that both terrified him and made him absolutely calm.

Daryl awoke just after dawn. At some point during the night, they had become tangled with each other and the stained blanket. Daisy was pressed against his side with her legs all wrapped around his, and his arm had somehow drifted across her, pulling her closer to him. He tried slowly, softly, to extract himself from the mess before she woke up in case she freaked out, but before he could lift his arm away Daisy clung desperately and hugged it tighter.

"Nooo, it's warm," she whined sleepily. Daryl chuckled softly.

"It's morning, Daise," he whispered with amusement.

"Fuck the morning," was her grumpy reply.

"Don't ya wanna get up?" Daryl asked. She shook her head vigorously and buried herself deeper under the sparse covers. "Fair enough." Daryl was pretty tired himself, and he didn't see any reason why they had to get up. One advantage of the world ending was that alarm clocks had ended with it.

"Cosy," Daisy explained from under the covers. Daryl grunted in agreement. He ignored her protests and shifted into a more comfortable pose, flattening out his pillow as he ground his shoulders into it. Daisy rolled over so she could throw her arm across his chest and nestle into the crook of his shoulder.

"Thought you didn't like getting' this close," Daryl grumbled. Daisy waved her hand over his mouth to shut him up, her fingers briefly floating over his stubble before reaching across to practically squeeze his ribs out. The softness of her fingertips against his rough skin made him shiver and he was puzzled by her sudden show of affection. Then again, she has always been a sucker for cuddles. Back in the trailer park, she used to stay over now and again when her father was real drunk. Daryl's trailer only had one cramped bed, so they got pretty used to being pretzled together throughout the night. She had gradually stopped staying over as they got older, though. Daryl preferred to think it was because of her own insecurities rather than him making her uncomfortable. Either way, it had been years since he had woken up with a warm little shadow stuck to his side. It was nice to have something breathing next to his own rising and falling ribcage. "You're like a damn baby squirrel," he complained, but did absolutely nothing to dissuade her.

"Remember that shitty little bed in your trailer?" Daisy yawned sleepily.

"I was jus' thinkin' about that," Daryl smiled. His arm bent comfortably around her shoulders and he walked his fingers up and down her arm, leaving behind goosebumps where their skin touched. He wondered if Daisy could feel his heart beating, since her face was all pressed into his chest. It felt like his heart was beating through her, into her, like she was a part of him that he couldn't live without. She was like an extra heart in many ways. Daryl stored all his love, hope, vulnerability, in her. Those things that he never allowed himself to feel were somehow forced into the open by one sideways glance from her hazel eyes. A rush of affection made him pull her closer and she smiled widely into his chest.

"Pushover," Daisy muttered.

"Mhm," Daryl hummed in reply. The sound rumbled through his chest and Daisy sighed contentedly. They dozed for a while, both of them just enjoying the sensation of a non-hostile body so close and so tangibly real. He had almost forgotten what life had been like before the metaphorical shit hit the fan. It had been like this, perhaps; kind of awkward, yet easy and full of relationships that were something more than mutually beneficial survival pacts. For a while between Daisy leaving the camp and the world ending, Daryl had been left in limbo, all by himself with his anger and fear and bitterness. Maybe that shaped him into someone that could survive the current state of the world, or maybe it limited him. Either way, Rick's group had pulled him back into a form reminiscent of the person he wanted to be. Having Daisy back had well and truly shaken that person into shape, and now all the memories of before the turn, before Daisy left, were flooding back. Daryl remembered the way he was back then and tried to recreate it, if only to see that look of respect in Daisy's eyes. "I missed you after you left the park," Daryl rumbled, breaking the spell of quiet that had fallen.

Daisy shifted her head so she could look up into his face, if only for a moment. "I knew you would. But I had to go," she smiled sadly.

"I know, I know," Daryl whispered. "I just wish I went with ya."

"I didn't give you much choice," Daisy giggled. It was true. She had disappeared completely in one night, all of her things gone, with no parting words save for a note scribbled on a Jack Daniel's label addressed to Daryl. It had said something about being sorry, and thanking him, and going out to live her life somewhere better. Daryl had understood wholeheartedly. That hadn't stopped him from downing the whole gift bottle in one night. "I never asked you…about what happened to him," Daisy said quietly.

"Yer father? Oh, nothin' really," Daryl dismissed. His hand tensed up around her arm and he knew she could feel the lie before it even slipped out of his mouth.

"Tell me," Daisy urged him, her hazel eyes gazing ardently up into his face.

"Ya don't need to know, girl," Daryl grunted gently. Daisy kept staring at him and he sighed. "Look, really, ya don't. He stayed in the park for the rest of his life, and he didn't make it out when it all started. That's all."

"Did he turn?" Daisy asked nonchalantly. Daryl nodded softly and searched her eyes for signs of joy or despair at the news. He could never understand how she found it within herself to care about that disgusting excuse of a human at all. When she was still just a kid, Daryl would offer to go beat the hell out of him every time she turned up with fresh bruises. She would always plead him to let it go, beg him to unwind the fists clenched within his pockets. Even now as he felt her entire body tense just thinking about him, he saw a flutter of sorrow cross her eyes. His hand ghosted over the thick, undisguisable scars across her back.

"He was a piece of shit," Daryl muttered. Daisy nodded, her head still resting on his chest. She held his gaze for longer than she usually could, and he felt like she was making some huge decision behind those calculating eyes.

"I missed you as well," she finally said, dropping her gaze when she stuttered out her admission. Daryl linked his hands behind her back and pulled her closer onto his chest. Her head fit perfectly under his chin and her fluttering heart rested just above his. Neither dared to take a full breath, scared it might startle the other. Daryl tried to steady his own pulse, but Daisy was stretching her fingers over his shoulders and it was impossible. She raised her head to look at him, her gaze tearing right through his nonplussed façade. This right here, this was something. This was more than the innocent camaraderie they had shared years ago. This was much more. For the second time in their lives, Daisy let their lips brush ever so faintly together. Oh sure, they had kissed each other before, but only a friendly peck on the cheek as a greeting, only a small token of affection. Being so close, sharing one breath, was so utterly alien that Daryl just froze. That was probably for the best, since Daisy snapped out of her sudden courageous mood and broke away with a muttered apology.

"Daisy. S'okay," Daryl appeased her. He had never wanted someone's closeness this much before. It wasn't lust, it was just a desperate need for affection and attention and anything other than the violent interactions he had grown used to. "C'mere," he pleaded, not caring how desperate he sounded. Daisy relaxed into his arms, one circling her back and the other reaching up to sweep her knotted hair away from her eyes. She laid a soft kiss onto his cheek, trying to work up the courage. Daryl didn't really know what he should do, but he was happy to let her figure it out. The mere proximity of another human was hard enough to comprehend, and left little room for thoughts about furthering their closeness. His hold was firm, secure, almost as if he was scared she would fly away at any moment, but he still kept his arms relaxed enough that she had the choice of pulling away. Daisy appeared to be contemplating that choice as she avoided his eyes and glanced around the room, but her weight rested comfortably across him and she seemed to welcome his ungraceful hands.

"Can I?" Daisy's quiet question lingered in the air between them. Her fingers clenched around his shoulders, unconsciously revealing how nervous she was, despite her act of nonchalance. Daryl, feeling a similar way, just nodded gently and let his hand drift to the back of her head. Not to force her towards him, but to show her that he wanted her closer as well. Daisy took her time about kissing him, her eyes fluttering shut as she closed the gap between their lips, and in the end it wasn't a particularly passionate or extraordinary kiss. It was still a kiss, though. It still sent shivers running down Daryl's spine and he fought the urge to drag her nearer and kiss her properly. He kissed her back slowly, softly, but more deeply than she had expected. She mewed softly into his mouth as his fingers involuntarily pulled at the hem of her shirt, teasing the soft skin beneath. That sound triggered something inside him and his previous need of closeness and affection was replaced with something more intense. Perhaps she felt the change in him, because Daisy pulled away with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," Daryl whispered hoarsely, loosening his grip until his hands were barely ghosting her skin.

"S'okay," she shrugged. Daisy leant down for one last kiss and settled back into her place by his side. "I always wanted to do that," she added with a shy giggle as she turned her head away. Daryl snorted.

"No shit," he rasped smugly. "Ya really weren't that subtle back then," he smirked amusedly. Although their friendship had always been just that, a friendship, there had been times when he wondered. He had always chalked it up to her having an innocent infatuation with him, maybe because he was older or just because he was the only guy around who didn't treat her like shit. Either way, he had ignored her amateur flirtations and had even encouraged her obsession over that weed-dealer's daughter, since he felt like it would be better for her in the long run. It was a bit self-deprecating, thinking that an actual drug addict was a better influence than himself, but he didn't want to drag her into his way of life or have people say he only looked out for her because they had something going on.

"I missed you a lot," Daisy mumbled sleepily as she pulled the blanket back over her head. Daryl squeezed her closer and sighed.

"Me too," he whispered gently, but he wasn't sure if she heard since she had dozed off, her arm limply laid across his stomach. The sun was coming through the dirty window and made dancing patterns of light across the disgusting floor, which meant it had to be about eight o'clock. It didn't matter, though. Daryl was more than happy to stay curled up with Daisy in this tiny bubble of normality for as long as he could.


	9. Beaten

The claimers had been busy little bees. When Daisy wandered outside that afternoon, she noticed how big their pile of shit had gotten. Boxes of food, mostly, and some other survival-type gear. She also noticed a number of weapons. Walking closer, it became apparent that they must have found a small armoury of some sort, because there was a massive pile of guns just lying there under a tarpaulin. Despite it being a long time since the world fucked up, Daisy had never found herself a gun, instead relying on her knives and machete. The thought of carrying such a feared and respected weapon made her feel a strange sense of safety. She took a step towards the pile, her steps deafeningly loud in the quiet street. No one else was to be seen; the men were off scavenging and Daryl was trying to make squirrel jerky in the makeshift kitchen. Daisy minced closer, kind of scared of the guns, but also desperately wanting one. Closer. Step by step. She was just reaching down to grab one when a nasally, whining voice made her jerk around with a gasp.

"What the hell you doing, bitch?" It was one of the claimers, a scrawny and unsavoury character that went by Michael. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. "Shit's claimed, sweetness."

Daisy tried not to cringe with disgust as she backed away. "Fine, I was just looking," she hissed, trying to sound apathetic and a little annoyed instead of slightly terrified. The man stepped into her path, effectively blocking her way back into the house. Daisy made to call for Daryl but found a blunt, yet still lethal, knife brandished at her neck.

"Don't you go yelling for your little fucking best friend," Michael sneered. "That fucker's a selfish prick, and you're too good to waste on him." His eyes flicked up and down, evaluating her appearance. "Well, not too good. But good enough," he laughed cruelly. Daisy leant away but a rough hand grabbed her arm and tugged her off balance. She let out a wail of terror as her assailant dragged her roughly towards the garage.

"Daryl's gonna fuckin' kill you," Daisy sniffed angrily. That comment earned her a backhand across the face, a blow that stung and made her ears ring for a minute. In that time, Michael had pulled her into the garage and her fear became tenfold as he slammed the roller door down. She kicked at his knees but all it took was one blow to the jaw to fell her. Daisy, after all, was a small person and physical strength was not one of her greatest assets. She made up for that with brains, however. While she pretended to lay stunned on the floor, she reached out and grabbed a rake handle that was lying nearby. Michael's yell was disproportionately loud compared to the blow she landed, but that was a good thing as it no doubt was heard from the house.

"Bitch," Michael spat and he landed a kick directly to her ribs. Daisy wheezed and cringed away from his continuing blows. His fingers jabbed at her skin as he grabbed the fabric of her shirt, ripping it easily. Daisy vaguely heard the front door slam and Daryl call her name frantically. She coughed, trying to restore her breath, and yelled back.

"In here." Her voice seemed small as her mouth shook with distress, her attention more focused towards Michael's violating hands. She kicked him again, this time landing a solid blow to his knee cap, and prayed that Daryl heard his grunt of agony. A kick, or maybe a punch, to the head made her vision blur and she rolled over. Unclearly in the back of her mind she registered a door slam open, then a meaty thud, and a furious voice swearing between more thuds. It went quiet and she shook her head. The fuzziness wouldn't leave and she nearly threw up from nausea. Then a pair of hands was on her arm, sending shivers creeping across her skin, and she shook them off with a yelp.

"Daisy, it's me," a familiar voice wandered through her ringing ears. She blinked up at the voice, her subconscious immediately calmed by the passive presence. "It's alright, jus' take it easy," the voice lulled her musically, sounding cheerfully fake as she was lifted to her feet. She barely registered Daryl as he assessed her injuries; her attention was drawn to the pig of a man lying on the floor. Michael's front teeth were punched in and his face was a bloody pulp. He twitched, groaning, and Daisy leapt back with a whine of fear. "S'okay, he's not gonna getcha," Daryl soothed her. His hands were covered in blood, the knuckles raw, and Daisy tried not to think about the immense force it would take to disfigure someone's face with your bare hands like that. Those immensely forceful hands had transformed into lightly fluttering ones as Daryl noted each injury, each bruise across Daisy's face and torso.

"Ow," Daisy hissed as a prodding finger pressed against her ribs. "Don't, it hurts," she groaned and batted away Daryl's hand.

"Sorry. I think they're broken," Daryl sighed. His face was splashed with blood, and it combined with his absolutely furious expression to create a striking image. Daisy, however, couldn't have been more thankful to see his furious face. Suddenly, the garage door rolled up and Daisy cringed away from the male voices that encroached into her and Daryl's bubble of serenity. She bowed her head behind Daryl's back as he turned to face the Claimers.

"The fuck it going on here?" Joe gaped at the sight of Michael's sprawled body, its beaten face, and Daryl's own violent appearance.

"I told ya what I'd do if someone touched her. I gave fair warnin," Daryl shrugged casually. Joe nodded slowly and carefully.

"Well, I can assume what happened was mostly Michael's fault. Piece of shit," Joe mused quietly. The other Claimers jostled about, trying to get a better look at their broken comrade. "And if I'm gonna stick by my own rules, I guess we gotta kill him." From the tone of his voice, Daisy could tell he wasn't too sorry about that and she wondered if he actually had any compassion for his group members. Daisy tried not to watch as Daryl pulled a knife from his belt and knelt over the downed man. He hesitated for a moment, but one glance at Daisy's bleeding body had his knife slamming into Michael's skull with a sickening crunch. Daryl said nothing to the Claimers as he helped Daisy stagger inside. They looked surprised and a little scared of Daryl's display of brutality.

Back in their room, Daisy watched as Daryl paced back and forth across the small room.

"Fuck," he would mutter under his breath each time he took a glance at Daisy.

"Daryl, I'm okay," Daisy tried to placate him, her words muffled by the cold flannel pressed against her bruised face. Daryl stopped short and shook his head with a humourless chuckle.

"Ya ever gonna stop lying to me about that?" Daryl muttered, grinding his teeth in agitation. He paced a few more laps then held out his hand. "Stand up, let's have a look," he said decisively, apparently working up the nerve to make himself look at the damage. Daisy winced as she stood and pain lanced up her right side. She tried not to cringe away as Daryl fussed around her ribs, poking them gently through the rips in her shirt. It was the grating noise they made rather than the pain that made her swear and lean away. "Yep, broken," Daryl growled. He echoed Daisy's swearing as he stood up to evaluate her face. It was bruised, but not too badly, and it hurt the least out of her injuries. Standing there whilst Daryl swore and sighed and poked her wounds was strangely nostalgic. This exact situation had been a common occurrence way back when, and Daisy was sure she would heal quickly; after all, she'd had worse damage in the past.

"Okay, enough," Daisy groaned. Her head still felt like shit and if she didn't sit down soon, she knew she'd collapse and then Daryl's head would probably explode with concern and anger at the Claimers. She was almost glad of his streak of anger; it had taken care of Michael pretty efficiently, even if it was confronting to see Daryl act so violently. This day had been a long time coming, though. Daryl had always promised her that he'd kill anyone who hurt her again. At the time, Daisy didn't think he meant it, but now that things had changed she knew he did mean it and he'd do it again in an instant. It worried her. Of course, it was a grand gesture to literally kill someone for her, but she didn't want Daryl to become that kind of person. Not completely, anyway. "We gotta leave ," she said firmly from her slouched position on the couch. She didn't add that it was for Daryl's sake as much as her own.

"Yeah, I know," Daryl agreed. He sat next to her and put a hand on her knee. "We shoulda left before, I'm sorry."

"No, you were right. They'd have killed us. But there's only three of 'em now, I reckon we could slip away," Daisy whispered. Daryl nodded. "Tonight. Please," Daisy said earnestly.

"Can ya walk?" Daryl asked skeptically. Daisy nodded.

"I just need a few hours to rest," she confirmed.

"Alright, then. I'll pack our shit while you're doin' that, and we'll head out as soon as those assholes are asleep," Daryl whispered. Daisy smiled at him, a broken and pained smile, and that sight almost made him cry. He cupped her uninjured cheek with a shaking hand and pressed a kiss to her forehead. This was almost too much for the both of them, and it was only the prospect of leaving together that allowed them to hold it together for a few more hours.


End file.
